


Edge Of A Fall

by supereviltwin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supereviltwin/pseuds/supereviltwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is on the edge of a fall. He just doesn't know if Steve is the one to catch him or to push him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge Of A Fall

**Author's Note:**

> First fic of this pairing, this fandom, and on this archive. Er...eek?

****

EDGE OF A FALL  


Bucky - and it is still strange to think of himself with that name, so used to his alias that it's hard to let go - leans towards the cracked and dirty mirror above his sink and wipes at it with the side of his fisted hand. In the small spot that he clears, he gazes at his reflection. His eyes don't look right, don't look like _his_. They look weary, like he's been awake every one of those decades that HYDRA had kept him frozen. He lifts his dogtags from the shelf below the mirror and ducks his head as he pulls them over it. They are new, unscratched as they clink together. Something else that HYDRA had taken from him that he had decided he wanted back.

There's Steve Rogers, as well. Captain America. Bucky had visited the Captain America exhibition, he had read a lot before he'd arrived here in Rocinha, found out what had happened to the man he used to call his friend. They'd saved each other on that helicarrier, one way or another. He could have left Steve to die; hadn't that been the mission? But he'd dragged him from the water and just left, knowing that Steve would survive. He is a tough man to kill. Bucky hates that he'd tried. Angry at himself, he pulls his arm back and listens to the metal click and scrape as he releases that frustration in a punch. The wall crumbles inward in a fist-shaped dent, almost identical to three others that pattern the walls of his shitty two-room apartment. He's angry far too much of the time, and always at himself.

Rocinha is a good place to hide. There are a lot of people here who don't look at him, don't even _pretend_ to look at him, and it suits him fine. If _he_ doesn't like what he sees when he looks in the mirror then there's no way that they will. When he does venture out it is always when the streets are quieter. Quiet _er_ , never quiet, because this part of the city is never completely at rest. And when he goes he wears baggy sleeves to cover up his arm, a beanie hat pulled down above his eyes that he tucks his hair into. Nobody here knows who he is anyway. The soldier he had been is just a story, now more than ever. But it pays to be cautious. He knows there will be people looking for him. SHIELD agents that haven't been tainted by the slow spread of HYDRA. Nick Fury will know he is still alive and out there.

Bucky never thinks for a moment that Steve would come looking, not after all he had put him through. He thinks that if their paths were to cross again, that he will accept whatever punishment Steve hands out to him. He deserves it.

He's been in Rio for three months when Steve finds him.

 

Steve doesn't take the door off its hinges to get in. He doesn't sneak through a window in the middle of the night. He knocks, and it's the middle of the day, and Bucky doesn't know why he answers because he never answers to knocks at his door, but he does. Steve doesn't move, but Bucky feels like he's been punched in the gut, the air knocked out of him, and he wraps a hand around the door frame to steady himself. The way Steve is looking at him is too much. Too much concern, too much guilt.

"What..What're you doing here?"

"I came to find you."

There's someone hovering behind him, someone Bucky recognizes vaguely from memories he's tried to repress. Silver wings and gunfire. Steve looks back at him and nods to a question that isn't even asked. As the other man leaves, Steve looks back to Bucky and asks, "Can I come in?"

He has no desire to fight, so he stands aside without a word and watches Steve move inside. Peers around the street outside before he closes the door behind them.

"You saved my life," Steve says, no preamble. 

"I was the one who put it in danger in the first place," Bucky reminds him.

"But you saved it. Why did you run?"

"Why wouldn't I? I've had enough of being imprisoned. They brainwashed me, you know? I didn't remember you, not at first. I was a prisoner in my own head, not just in their labs."

"Bucky, I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry, Steve."

"But it's my fault you were there. I was the one who let you go."

Bucky frowns, shaking his head. He turns away from Steve, heading towards the threadbare couch underneath the room's only window. "No, you didn't. I remember it differently."

"Can your memory really be trusted?"

" _I_ let go of _you_. I made that sacrifice, but Zola... Whatever he did to me, it meant I survived. I wished most days that I hadn't." 

There's a long silence, Steve processing what Bucky's just told him. He looks on the verge of arguing, but this is _Bucky_ , his best friend, and they were never in the habit of lying to one another when they were friends. His next five words are spoken softly. "I'm glad that you did."

That makes him want to laugh in Steve's face. _Glad_? "Do you know what I've done since they found me? Since they gave me this," he flicks at the metal arm, "-and trained me to kill?"

"You were trained to kill when you joined the army. Nothing else since then was you." Steve crosses the room and stops a couple of feet away. "We did a lot of good together, Bucky. We still can. _This_? This isn't the end of the line."

"Do you want to stay?"

Steve looks at him, then looks around the apartment - at the bare walls and the worn furniture and the filthy lightbulbs that do nothing for the level of light in the room - and he nods. "I'll stay. We can talk."

 

It's dawn again when the conversation starts to wind down. The pot of coffee that Bucky made to keep himself awake is empty, down to dregs, and Steve is sitting closer to him now. He's still alert and Bucky thinks he's used to no sleep. They both are. He thinks a lot of other things, too, like how good Steve looks like this and how Bucky doesn't deserve forgiveness or apologies. Not that Steve has tried to give him either since he told him the truth.

"Why did you look for me?" he asks, at some point when the sunlight is just starting to break through the grime on the window.

"What else would I do?"

"But _why_? What were you going to do when you found me? I can't come back with you. After what I did...I'd think myself _lucky_ if they just gave me the death penalty."

"That wouldn't happen. Like I said, nothing that happened with HYDRA was you. You're a different man now, a _good_ man. You're the Bucky I knew before any of this happened."

Bucky tuts and looks away. "And you haven't changed a bit, Steve. Has there ever been anyone you can't forgive?"

Steve smiles, amused by the serious question, and shakes his head. "Probably not. Natasha hates that about me, too."

"I never said I hated it."

His friend changes the subject entirely then, touches on something they haven't yet talked about. He touches the metal arm and asks Bucky what it feels like. Bucky bites his lip and doesn't answer, just gets up from the couch, away from Steve's warmth, and goes to the refrigerator. He gets a bottle of water, opens it, takes a long drink from it. It helps, it clears some of the fuzz away from his head. Behind him, Steve sighs.

"Hey."

"It feels like penance," Bucky blurts, then turns to look straight at Steve. "It's the reason I have to hide, so...that's what it is." He doesn't move when Steve nears him, turns his head slightly when Steve pushes at the sleeve that covers half of his bionic limb. He reveals the scratched metal, dark gouges where the red star used to be. It was one of the first things Bucky did, ashamed and sick with himself, but he isn't sure it really helped. 

"I don't want you to have to hide anymore."

"Yeah, well, you're probably the only one." He tries to fight it, but his head droops then and Steve grins at him. 

"Tired?"

Bucky nods, with some effort. "Aren't you?"

"A little. I guess I just got used to not sleeping. I slept for 70 years, kind of takes all the fun out of it."

"You can take the bed if you want. The couch isn't that bad."

"I'll be fine." Steve releases him then, lets his shirt sleeve drop again. "I just need to make a call. Sam, the guy who was with me," he adds, at the sudden worry in Bucky's expression. "I'll tell him he can head back to the hotel."

"How long are you planning on staying?" Bucky asks.

"Long as it takes."

 

It's difficult, in such a small space, to really avoid Steve for too long. But Steve is a gentleman at heart and he gives Bucky plenty of privacy, somehow. They talk through a lot of what's left of the next day, and they go out in the evening, oversized hoodies on with the sleeves pulled down against the chill and prying eyes. Bucky still can't get straight in his head how tall Steve is. How much bigger he is. He remembers the scrawny guy before all this, because when his memories started to come back to him those were the ones that he latched onto more than any others. It's weird. People watch them together, Bucky can see them looking, but he knows that now there's no way that anybody would try to pick a fight. In a neighborhood like this where even at night the streets are full and lively with all manner of people, that's a good thing.

"So why here?"  
Steve asks, cutting into his thoughts.

Bucky shrugs. "I don't remember ever killing anyone here," he answers, and that's the truth. "Nobody knows me, nobody really notices me. People keep their distance in a place like this."

He walks with Steve for about six blocks, then they loop around and head back. Bucky stops to go into one of the few stores that have managed to survive here and buys food and alcohol, because he thinks he'll need one and Steve will need the other before too long. They get back quickly after that, Bucky closing his apartment door just as some idiot on a moped speeds past on the street beyond. He can almost feel Steve holding back, but he doesn't prod him to say anything. Instead he asks if he wants dinner yet and goes about preparing them some food on the little gas camping stove he has. It's nothing special, but it's a lot better than some people around here have and he knows it will be good enough. It's better than the field rations they used to get in the '40s, and those are some of the last dinners he remembers sharing with Steve.

Bucky drinks beer with dinner, Steve drinks water. He can't get drunk. He tried, he tells Bucky. He tried pretty hard, but the serum in his blood took all the fun out of that too. Bucky feels a little sorry for him at that, then feels like an ass for it. He switches to water after one beer. If he doesn't, he knows that he'll end up drunk himself and then he'll do something stupid.

In the end, Steve is the one that makes him do it.

 

Bucky is in the bathroom, the poor excuse for a shower trickling water down the drain. He mutters in frustration at it, at the shitty plumbing in general, and thumps the pipes. The noise brings Steve looking and Bucky isn't quick enough to block the door, or to grab his shirt, so he just stands there while Steve stares at him, while Steve's gaze travels over his naked torso. 

"God, Bucky..."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Bucky starts, but they both know he's lying. He has several scars and they're so obviously new, and to see Steve looking at him that way makes each one seem to sting again. And then there's the arm, the join of metal and flesh. Bucky avoids looking at it as much as possible, but Steve looks like he can't help himself. One step brings him close enough to touch and he does so, Bucky's eyes fluttering closed at the contact. When Steve's fingers move across, brushing one of the thick, raised scars on one side of his chest, he can't help himself. He moans softly, and Steve's hand stills on him instantly.

"And this?" he asks. "Is this penance as well?"

Bucky pushes at him, almost growling, and in spite of Steve's strength he's taken by surprise and ends up against the wall with Bucky crowding against him, an arm either side of him. "I tried to kill you," he says, voice coming out more choked than he'd like. "And then...then I remembered who you were, who _we_ were, and I fell in love all over again. So yes, I'm punishing myself. All the time." He moves his right hand to Steve's neck and his friend doesn't flinch at the contact. "So now you get to kick my ass or you just go with it."

Steve swallows and Bucky feels it beneath his fingers, wonders what it means that Steve hasn't moved yet.

"I don't know what to do-"

"Oh." Bucky starts to pull away, but then Steve's hand is on his shoulder, gripping tight, and he's holding him right where he is.

"I mean, I don't know how this works," he says. "Help me figure it out."

 _Oh._ Steve giving him permission like that is almost more than he can take, and he leans forward and up and presses his lips to Steve's. The other man barely moves at first, not until Bucky gently squeezes at his jaw, makes him open his mouth. Even with that, the kiss is still tentative and unsure. He doesn't even know if Steve is still breathing right now and he rocks back on his heels, searching his friend's face for a sign that he just fucked up majorly.

"Steve?"

And then Steve kisses him back. This time it feels sure, confident, but still like he's holding back. Bucky isn't going to push, he's not that kind of guy, but then Steve moves an arm down his side and rests a hand to his hip, pulls him in close enough for their bodies to meet. He can't help it, he gasps out a laugh and Steve stops kissing him.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"I just wondered where you learnt that move," Bucky tells him, and Steve smiles at that. 

"Probably from watching you and all your dates."

Steve drops another kiss against Bucky's lips and then turns away, telling him to finish his shower. That he'll make a pot of coffee while he waits.

Bucky doesn't really get the water working properly, but he strips off all the same and uses a threadbare washcloth to rub at his skin. Steve got the scars, he understood them, but Bucky wishes he could wash them away as well. He feels like he's messed up, like he's on the edge of something huge and Steve is the only thing stopping him from falling. He wraps a clean towel round his waist and moves out into the other room, sees Steve there with his hand raised to touch one of the dents Bucky left in the wall.

"You're angry a lot," Steve says. "I felt like that when I first woke up, too. Didn't want to be here, in this time, without everyone. They wanted to let me get used to it gradually, but I didn't give them the chance. I just wanted to run. I wanted to hide, as well, and figure out why I was here and what had happened to everyone I loved. So I do know what you're going through."

"You're not going to run from this, are you? From me?"

Steve turns to him, his hand dropping away from the wrecked plaster. "No, of course not. I wouldn't do that." He reaches out and his hand cups the back of Bucky's head, pulls him close so that he can kiss him. "I promise I won't let you go again."

 

Bucky doesn't get dressed. He has nothing left to hide from Steve now, and Steve doesn't seem to want him to. 

"Is it strange?" he wants to know. "I never thought we'd be able to do this." He's laid flat on the bed and Steve is squashed against him, resting on his side, trying not to put too much of his weight on Bucky as he runs his fingers over naked skin. Bucky shakes at his touch, but it's a good kind of tremor.

"It's good, I'm trying not to think too hard about it." Steve catches the look Bucky gives him at that, and stops him getting up with a firm hand against his chest. "I didn't mean it like that, I promise." He moves again, pulling Bucky up so he's on top of him. The bed creaks and groans underneath them and worry crosses his face. "Is this going to hold us? Should we go back to my hotel?"

"You have a nice hotel room and you're staying here with me? What kind of crazy are you, Rogers?" Bucky's trying for joking, but in truth he's nervy as hell. 

"I don't know what to tell you," Steve answers. He sits up, Bucky leaning back, and tugs off his shirt. Finally, Bucky thinks. Finally he's getting an even playing field. Almost. Steve tosses the shirt and then his hands fall to Bucky's hips, fingers toying with the knot in his towel. "Do you want to?"

"I thought you were the shy one," Bucky starts, but then he's nodding his head yes and watching Steve's eyes as the towel gets pulled away and his friend just stares at him. "All in, right?"

"All in," Steve agrees. His hands move to spread across Bucky's back and he makes him move, forces him down until they're an inch apart. Bucky can feel how aroused he is, the hard outline of Steve's dick pushes against his stomach and he shifts and moves for that hitch of breath he knows will come. He pushes his tongue into Steve's mouth, kisses him hard and unrelenting for a minute, tired of the gentleness. Steve's too chivalrous, it was always a joke between them back before the war, and Bucky...Well, he isn't quite as much of a gentleman when it comes to the bedroom. With women, yes, he'd be careful and let them come to him, but this is Steve. And Steve has the strength to take whatever Bucky gives and then some. He's seen it firsthand.

Kissing, he thinks, is far more rewarding than trying to knock him out. Kissing Steve makes him move, his hands all over Bucky's skin, and it makes him sigh into Bucky's mouth. Those are the kinds of noises he likes hearing. He stops himself, though, and rolls to Steve's side again. When Steve mumbles in dissent he doesn't say anything, he just reaches down and tugs at the zipper on Steve's pants. "They need to come off."

Steve gets up from the bed to undress the rest of the way and Bucky watches with satisfaction at the body he reveals. It's still something he isn't used to, seeing him like this, but it sure as hell isn't anything to complain about. Then he's back and Bucky bends his legs, raising his knees as Steve fits between them. His right arm comes up, fingers playing with the scruffy hair at the back of Steve's neck, his left arm he leaves where it is, and Steve grabs at him, warm fingers closing around cool metal. Their mouths crash together again, just as their bodies do, and Bucky makes a noise at the feel of Steve pressing hard against him. His cock is already leaking pre-come, a sign of how long he's been thinking of this and how long he's gone without. 

He knows he can't ask Steve for what he really wants, not yet, so he lets Steve take the lead and is surprised by his friend's boldness. Steve ruts against him like it's the only thing he knows how to do. Bucky thinks that's likely not too far from the truth. He wraps his legs around Steve's and tries to lift himself from the bed, tries to meet Steve halfway, but really? There's no fighting against him in this. The kiss gets messy, Steve's mouth falling open and sliding from Bucky's as he tucks his head down and grits his teeth. He's pushing so hard that Bucky knows there'll be bruises, but he doesn't care. 

Just as Steve comes, just as Bucky shudders under him with his own release, the weight of them becomes too much for the bed beneath them and the whole damn thing collapses. One of the posts bounces off Steve's arm and he doesn't even notice. They land with a jolt on the floor and Steve's mouth fastens to Bucky's, just about swallowing his surprised laugh. He stays there for a good few minutes, tasting and licking his way round Bucky's mouth, the rest of him gone still. When he finally pulls away, Bucky looks into his eyes and sees the change there. He's not holding anything back anymore.

"You broke my bed," he says, the first thing that comes to mind.

"Guess I forget my own strength sometimes."

 

They break the couch next.

 

Afterwards they sit on the floor with their backs to the wall, the sheets from Bucky's bed pulled around them. It's not particularly comfortable, but they've dealt with far worse in their time. 

"Maybe we should go to your hotel," Bucky says.

"Maybe you should just come back with me."

Bucky stiffens at that. It's not that the idea is unexpected, he knows it's why Steve's here after all. But he doesn't know how he's supposed to go back there and feel like everything's all right.

"Hey." Bucky still doesn't look round at him, and Steve sighs. "It'll be okay, you know. I'll be there with you, every step of the way. They can help you."

"I don't want their kind of help," Bucky spits out, pushing himself forward so that his back is to Steve. So that he's not so _close_.

"You might not want it, but you need it. Same as I needed it. Bucky, please? Come back with me? _For_ me?"

"And then what? What happens when I'm back there? What am I supposed to do there?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I just want you there."

Bucky's head drops into his hands and he huffs out a breath. He can't say no to Steve and his friend knows damned well he can't. 

"And, you know, even if you stay closed in my apartment the whole time, even if you don't want to talk to anybody there, you have to promise me that you won't leave again. Because I won't ever leave you." Steve goes quiet, like he's waiting for something. When Bucky doesn't answer, he just nudges him, a gentle push of fingers against his arm. "Bucky?"

"Yes," Bucky says, distractedly. His mind is going over everything that could happen to him the minute he steps outside the door. He knows there's no coming back. He knows there's no running from Steve. That edge he was teetering on, he's falling over it now, and Steve isn't there to stop him. He's there to push him. Bucky feels like he's ready to fall.

 

**end**


End file.
